


More A Love Rhombus Than A Triangle

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Gags, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Spanking, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, you read the pairing in the tags correctly.<br/>Varric, Zevran, Anders and Fenris.<br/>The latter three are in on the action, the former is just giving orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More A Love Rhombus Than A Triangle

**Author's Note:**

> The word "shmekhi" means assassin, and it belongs to Skye over at varriclever on Tumblr. This is inspired by the Fenris, Anders and Varric I RP with on antivandelight, my Zevran Arainai RP blog.

"Do not touch him, mage." Zevran pauses and so does Anders; both of them turn and regard Fenris where he stands in the doorway. Anders straightens, looking down at Fenris - and of course, this only makes the ex-slave bristle all the further.

He makes as if to lunge at Anders, but he is stopped short by a grip on the back of his tunic; Varric kicks the door to his quarters shut, huffing out an amused sigh as he shakes his head.

"Shmekhi, are you getting Blondie and the elf here all worked up?"

Zevran feigns innocence, putting a hand to his chest, but before he has the chance to speak Varric interrupts, pushing Fenris forwards and ignoring the elf’s indignant growl.

"Feeling possessive, huh, Elf?"

"The mage should learn not to touch what is not his-"

"He’s not yours, Fenris. He’s not anyone’s." Anders says, and he is scowling, arms crossed.

"You could share." Zevran purrs, settling between them, and one hand plays in Fenris’ belt while the other plays over the tie of Anders’ robe; both taller men lean in and then seem to notice each other, emitting a snarl and a tut respectively. Zevran is plainly frustrated, but Varric then steps forwards, pulling Zevran back by the collar.

He is efficient in undoing Zevran’s shirt, and the assassin lets him, raising an eyebrow.

"You’ll share, damn the both of you." Varric says, and he does not spare a glance for Fenris or for Anders, concentrating on stripping Zevran’s clothes off. "I’ll referee, alright? Tell you who can touch where."

"Left hand on red." Zevran quips, and Varric slaps his arse once his leggings are pulled down, affecting the elf to hiss. "Am I to be quiet?"

"No; you are to be gagged." Varric makes a mimicry of Zevran’s accent and the assassin flushes to the tips of his ears, affronted, but Varric hooks a thumb in his lips before he can protest. "I promise you, Shmekhi; you’ll like this."

Zevran hums, but relents, and allows Varric to tie a clean handkerchief about his head, gagging him thoroughly.

Anders’ mouth is dry as he watches, and Fenris has turned a very slight pink when Varric turns to address them both; Zevran is naked, ink showing plainly in order to accentuate the muscles to be found across his torso, his arse, his back, his shoulders, his arms.

"Now, you can’t be telling me you don’t both want a piece of this." Varric’s hand is set upon Zevran’s lower back, and when his thumb begins to trace pleasant patterns at the base of his spine, Zevran’s eyelids flutter, and his head tilts back.

Fenris wants to bite at that neck, and Anders thinks the same, both of them staring at the new skin.

"Just play nice, and you could both have him. Look at him - he’s gagging for it." Zevran makes a noise of disapproval at an honestly terrible joke, and Varric laughs, tapping him on the back before pushing him forwards.

"Kiss his neck, Fenris."

The taller elf hesitates, looking suspiciously from Anders to Varric and then to Zevran, but then he relents, dipping and catching Zevran by the hip; he dips, dragging his teeth over the bared flesh before pressing kisses to the skin, and the noise Zevran makes is gratifying, muffled though it is by the gag.

“Strip off, Blondie.” Varric says, and when Anders can stand to drag his gaze from the two elves before him to the dwarf, he notes that Varric has pulled an armchair forward, having settled himself quite comfortably.

“I don’t wan-”

“Just look at him; you really do.” Anders looks back, to the way Zevran melts into Fenris’ hands, back arching, and he takes in Fenris’ mouth on Zevran’s skin. His mouth feels even dryer.

“Fine.” He mutters, and he misses Varric’s smug expression as the dwarf watches. His robes come off easily enough, dropped to the side, and even as he pulls off his clothes, he does not look away from the gorgeous sight before him.

Fenris’ mouth moves lower, nipping across Zevran’s collarbones, his sternum, and now he begins to leave marks, decorating Zevran’s skin in pink and red and white, the bites showing up amongst the clean lines of his tattoos.

“Your turn, Elf.” Fenris grunts, but he draws back all the same, pushing Zevran back against Anders; he delights in the way the assassin stumbles, falling back against the mage. He wonders what that makes him, to be so pleased with Zevran’s uncertainty, but he will not worry about that for the time being.

He begins to undo his armour, and his eyes are kept firmly upon Anders and Zevran, at the way the mage is gentle, hands stroking over Zevran’s arms as his lips play over the back of the elf’s neck, then lower, tracing over Zevran’s spine - the assassin shudders, and Fenris makes a mental note of that all important sensitivity.

“There’s a little rope behind you, Blondie. Tie his hands; can’t have him getting ideas.” Varric says, and Fenris realizes what prompted the new order; Zevran groans, and reluctantly draws his hand away from where it had been reaching for Anders’ cock, half-hard between his legs.

Fenris’ eyes linger on this latter; it is bigger than Zevran’s, paler, in a thatch of hair Fenris is unused to; elves do not grow such hair, after all. He swallows, considering that length in his own hand, and looks to his own boots. He is not at a level of utter debauchery that he can yet consider themage in such a light.

Anders’ hands are clever as they knot the rope at Zevran’s wrists, keeping them tight behind his back, and while the assassin could no doubt make his way out of them, given the chance, all of them know he will not.

“Blondie, push him back on the bed.” Anders does, and he is rough about it; Zevran stumbles again, falling back on Varric’s bed, and he lets out an irritated sound, glaring at Anders and Varric in turn.

Fenris laughs.

“Blondie, sit on the side of the bed, pull him into your lap.” Anders glances to Varric, and now he notes that the story-teller is still clothed, but with his trousers unbuttoned, his hand absently stroking over the contents therein. It sends a shock of brilliant heat through him, to consider that Varric is ordering them about like dolls set to play, and even better is that he’senjoying it.

Anders does, and Zevran grunts, arse in the air, hands tied, face pressed against Anders’ thigh; the mage cannot help the tongue that darts out to wet his own lips, and when Varric says “Smack him.” he is eager to do so.

The sounds ring in the quietness of the room; the sharp slap of flesh against flesh, and then the whine that Zevran lets out.

Amazing, Varric thinks, that he can make not a single noise when in the greatest of pain, but with pleasure, the elf is the loudest little thing he’s ever heard.

Fenris is still, watching the way the other elf shivers in Anders’ lap, and between his legs he feels a jolt of interest - the assassin is always so smug, and to see him so utterly without power now is fascinating, enthralling; bewitching, even. Anders notes his interest, eyes glancing from Zevran’s arse to Fenris’ cock, and the mage swallows hard, bringing his hand down again, hard.

“You try, Elf.” Fenris steps forwards, until he is in front of Anders, Zevran sprawled across the mage’s lap, between them. Anders thinks of how easy it would be for Fenris to kiss him now, and he feels indignation and utterheat in his stomach both at once. Fenris brings his hand down, and the blow is far harder than Anders’ had been; Zevran yowls, the sound only barely muffled by the fabric tight against his tongue.

Anders swallows.

“Alternate. You’ve got a sense of rhythm, I’m guessing; go on, Shmekhi likes it, I promise.”

And judging by Zevran’s desperate wriggles as Fenris and Anders begin to smack him in tandem, thrusting himself down against Anders’ thigh as well as pressing up for more, the assassin most definitely does.

“Pull him up, Blondie; bite along that pretty chin of his.” Anders does, and he grasps at Zevran’s reddened buttocks in instinct, digging into the abused flesh and drawing a groan from Zevran; between them, Zevran’s cock gives a little lurch. “There’s lube behind you, Elf, on the dresser.” Fenris turns, regarding the bottle of oil thoughtfully, and he picks it up.

“Get your fingers nice and wet - yeah, that’s it.” Fenris has not done this in a long time, and he is careful as he lubricates his fingers, unwilling to do Zevran any more permanent damage. He presses two between Zevran’s cheeks where Anders has spread them wide, and one of them presses a little further.

Zevran’s whine is gratifying as Fenris pushes inside, and the assassin tries to hide his face against the mage’s neck, but Anders tangles his hand in Zevran’s hair and Varric grins from his seat, knowing very well what that rough treatment of follicles will do to the smaller elf.

If Zevran hadn’t been wearing the gag, his scream would no doubt have summoned Corff from the front room, but as it stands his desperate cry is muffled. Fenris chuckles, beginning to bite and nip at Zevran’s shoulder as he presses his finger fully within, swiftly adding a second and beginning to scissor the both of them, stretching Zevran wide.

“Another one, Elf; he’ll need it.” Fenris doesn’t yet register what Varric might mean, pressing the third finger forwards, and Anders’ hand tightens in Zevran’s hair to keep him from shifting too much between them. “And a fourth one.” Zevran lets out a soft, choked noise against Anders’ hair, and the mage chuckles as Fenris presses the forth forwards.

The assassin looks positively in ecstasy, head tipped back slightly, hips pressing down eagerly against the other elf’s fingers. “One might think you’re eager or something, Zevran.”

The assassin ignores him, and Anders hums.

“Sit back, Blondie, pull Shmekhi with you.” Anders does, lying back, and Fenris groans at the sight, the way Zevran struggles to sit up properly with his hands tied as they are, and Anders grins, catching Zevran by the hips and lifting him slightly. “Yeah, you got the picture. Lower him down.”

Zevran gasps and chokes out the prettiest of noises as Anders drops him onto his cock, bringing him down a bit at a time, and Zevran’s head bows as he gasps in little breaths. It is rare that the assassin will allow himself to be treated like this - subbing, he can take, but with his hands tied, his mouth gagged? No, this is a rarer treat, but Varric is certainly making it worth-while.

“Now, Elf, you getting the picture here?” Zevran lets out a soft noise as Anders bottoms out, but the mage and assassin both go still, glancing back to Varric.

“I believe so.” Fenris murmurs, and then he steps forwards, kneeling on the bed behind Zevran, where Anders’ legs are spread a little to accommodate him. Anders takes in a slow breath as Fenris carefully lines himself up - Zevran is prepped enough for this, fully aware of his own limits, and he lets out an impatient noise, trying to push back for himself, but Anders’ grip is too tight on his hips to allow the movement.

Zevran, reluctantly, is still, but he is far from quiet as Fenris pushes himself against Anders, pressing inside - Anders gasps, the sensation foreign to him, tight and incredibly hot.

“Ooh, now that’s a pretty picture.” Varric murmurs, and his hand moves a little faster on his own cock as he watches. “You see why we were practising that rhythm? Blondie, you first, then Fenris. Be careful about it.”

They are not so much thrusts as they are very deliberate, very careful rocking motions - Fenris is left gasping and choking on his breaths against Zevran’s shoulder, and Anders is left giving quiet groans as he moves. It does not take either of them long; the sensation is positively overwhelming, of course. Anders comes first, and Varric takes note of the smugness in Fenris’ smirk as he pulls Zevran up, lifting him with ease as he takes his fill.

When Fenris has come also, Zevran drops back obediently, and it is Anders who grasps the smaller man’s cock, stroking it swiftly; Zevran’s orgasm is, as ever, a pretty thing, and he shudders under Anders’ attentions, arching on the bed.

Both Anders and Fenris very concentratedly look at him, and not at each other. “Undo the gag, Blondie, and, Elf, let his hands free.” Zevran goes utterly lax, flopping across Anders’ stomach once released, and the blond snorts. Fenris reaches forwards, stroking over the length of Zevran’s spine with curious fingers, and the smaller elf shivers.

“Everyone happy?”

“I am definitely happy.” Zevran mumbles before making odd expressions, moving his jaw from side to side to relieve the discomfort.

“You’ve just had sex. Of course you’re happy.” Anders mutters, and Fenris adds, “It is rare to see you unhappy.”

Varric laughs as he regards the three of them - it is unfortunate, he thinks, that even if he and Zevran could convince the other two, that the four of them would not comfortably fit in bed together.

Ah, a shame, but he can fix that when he writes this down.


End file.
